


Fabricated Life

by TheEchoingSoul



Category: Ib (Video Game)
Genre: Art, Betrayal, Fabrications, Gen, Ib All Alone, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Painting, Psychological Trauma, Sad, Trapped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-18 02:33:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1411756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEchoingSoul/pseuds/TheEchoingSoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"With teary eyes and a wish to rewrite history, Ib gazed at the last, clean wall. With prayers and pleas, Ib picked up her brush and began to draw what she desired. Ib put her tears into it and, in the end, her soul. It was something that she wouldn't mind forgetting her life for."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fabricated Life

This wasn't meant to happen. She knew that now, after the fact, when no one would ever be able to reach her. She was left all alone, the perfect sacrifice. However, this fate was something she more than likely deserved, a punishment for trusting those that lured her into Eden with false claims. It really was quite obvious, now that she thought back on it. She was the only human present in a den full of starved beasts.

A yellow rose was a jealous one. Mary hadn't ever been human, hadn't cared for as long as she could step on others to achieve her freedom. Really, yellow is such an ugly color. It was too bright, too fake, and all too much Mary. It was her hair, her rose, her stupid split personality that lured Ib into believing her to be just another trapped human being in a crazy jam. How she had been wrong, so wrong.

Then there was Garry, a good hearted man with a beautiful, fragile blue rose. He was afraid of nearly everything in the gallery, yet tried so hard to be brave. In the grand scheme of things, it was him that Ib should have been the most wary of. Blue roses are miracles, fabrications of the impossible. Perhaps that is why she had trusted him so, he was a miracle, but this miracle was not for Ib. It was selfish to even believe it ever was. That boy was only an illusion of something she desperately needed, another person. Yet, he was in it for himself, even if he hadn't realized it at first.

Near, ever so close to returning to the real gallery, Garry and Ib had been intercepted by a fake Garry, whom revealed that Garry was one half of Guertena. It hadn't taken long, no not even three minutes, before Garry transformed. He slowly began to change as his other self merged with him, becoming one. Guertena. He took Mary, and Ib let them, too hurt from where she had been hit. Her fingers dug into the carpet, nails digging in to the point that it felt as though they would break. Tears stung at her eyes, her voice cracked, calling for Garry or her parents, whoever could hear her.

But no one would ever come for her. No one would ever hear her. Not ever again.

Ib was left here, alone and abandoned. Her life was erased. She was no longer needed.

As the nonexistent time ticked by, Ib began to feel strange. She pulled herself to her knees and stared at her hands, eyes widening as they began transparent. Surprised gasps followed as she looked down at the rest of her, forced to watch in absolute horror as her body slowly began to disappear. Her tears leaked down her face as she panicked, screaming as she latched onto herself, shaking. For less than thirty seconds she closed her eyes, not wanting to see the particles that once made up her body. As she ascended into darkness Ib could only feel both betrayed and an unlimited sadness.

* * *

Guertena arrived at the gallery, chuckling to himself as he held Mary's hand. She looked up at him with big blue eyes, before glancing at the painting that she had never seen before. A part of her felt awed, the other thankful, and a small part felt guilty. If she could have changed anything, it would have been that Ib was at her side. However, her creator was, even though she had hated him at first. It was awful to betray her first friend, but Mary never wanted to go back to that place. She was tired of being alone; it was someone else's turn to suffer.

Mary turned from the portrait, thanking Ib silently for her new life. She wouldn't waste it, never. She wanted to live, to feel the sun, and to make new friends. She tugged on her father's sleeve, prompting him to leave with her. The lavenderette gave one last longing look at the portrait before following behind his small creation. In this life his name was Garry, a new identity for a "brand new" artist.

* * *

It was cold here, Ib decided, walking through the dimming hallways. The lights flickered wherever she walked, and the other creatures of the art exhibit never approached her. Ib sighed to herself, not bothered when her breathe came out as white mist. It didn't even bother her that she didn't need to breathe anymore. In fact, it was quite useful most of the time. The other times it was enough to make her want to scream. Breathing is essential to humans, but, then again, Ib was no longer human.

Here, in this darkened gallery, only her fabricated body existed. If she so wished, Ib could change that which was around her. However, it would only be a fraction. She progressed through the corridors, wanting to seclude herself from the rest of that gallery. Her steps never made a sound as she reached her destination.

After Mary had left, her sketchbook had been erased, leaving a new canvas. Ib sat herself in that white until she couldn't take it anymore. Slowly, ever so slowly, she envisioned a brush and then one was within her hands. She gave a glance at the white space around her, wondering as to what she should do. She was alone here, abandoned within a world that wasn't her own. All of this, every single moment in this frozen time was retched and lonely, so lonely.

Without realizing it, Ib had drawn Garry. It was the very man who had first journeyed with her, her friend. His smile was kind, a blue rose outstretched in his hand. In that white space, the colors were vivid and real. The portrait even spoke to her, just like Garry had. Without hesitation, Ib drew her parents next, crying as she did. The two were drawn together, and they too spoke to Ib like her real mother and father would.

With increasing fervor, she painted and drew in various colors and patterns, re-creating those that she once knew. Continuously, Ib drew until there was only a single wall left in her realm. For an undisclosed amount of time, her drawings appeased her loneliness, but there came a time where she snapped. All her creations were not the real thing, they lacked what she wanted most, and Ib found herself hating them and herself.

With teary eyes and a wish to rewrite history, Ib gazed at the last, clean wall. With prayers and pleas, Ib picked up her brush and began to draw what she desired. She put her tears into it and, in the end, her soul. It was something that she wouldn't mind forgetting her life for.

On that last wall of that heartbroken maze there was a beautiful picture of a clock. It hung on a long silver chain, and inside that lock resided the young girl's fragile heart and mind. In that space, in a pocket outside time, or even in another dimension, a girl awakes in a daze. A nightmare fluttering behind her drowsy eyes, but clears and she stands to greet the day.

Her parents were taking her to an art gallery today.

* * *

Within that original space, at some point in fabricated time, the Master returns to his gallery. He searches for the princess, one long forgot, and wanders through the maze of art work that she had left behind.

He approaches the last wall, and with a sigh, beholds the sight of a fragile mind. He dips a hand in, ignoring all the thorns and vines, but he indeed knows that Ib is lost to time.

In the portrait, her pale eyes are closed, her hands holding a red rose, and the yellow and blue join it on either side. Her body is laid to rest upon a field of hunter-green, her shirt still crisp and white. In her sleep, she looks so peaceful, a body without life. Yet, her mind still lingers behind her eyes. Those vermillion eyes, red as a new-born rose are open, but only in another time.

The man sighs to himself, lighting a cigarette. A part of him feels cold and lost, but now he must turn and go. Mary is waiting and their roses still have many petals to go.

"Good night, Sleeping Beauty or, should I say, Snow White."

 


End file.
